


Lostville, NE

by Barkour



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Grayson and Wally West experience a few hiccups on their road trip, but Dick's pretty sure they'll work it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lostville, NE

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned fic for Emileesaurus! Thank you so very much for your kindness, all your support and praise, and of course, your patience. I hope you enjoy this!

"You don't know where we are, do you?"

Dick spread the road map across the wheel and did not once look up; acknowledging Wally would only encourage him. The absolute last thing Wally needed was encouragement. Grimly, Dick stared at the map and began tracing the roads with his finger.

"Some detective," said Wally. "Got us lost in the middle of Nebraska."

"We're not lost," said Dick. Tactical error. 

"If we're not lost," said Wally, "then where are we? 'Cause it looks a lot like Lostville, Nebraska, to me."

"Are they incorporated?"

"The corniest place on Earth," said Wally.

The roads were lines, splitting and converging like the branches of a tree, halving and halving again then crossing each other. Dick frowned at the tiny print denoting Jeff's Road and then leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

"Why didn't we bring GPS?"

"Don't ask me," said Wally. "It was your idea. Low-tech get-away!"

"The passenger's supposed to be the navigator," said Dick.

"You would've whined if I snuck a GPS in," Wally said.

Wally had slipped out the passenger door and taken a seat on the hood of the car. Now he folded his arms behind his head and fell back against the hood with his eyes closed and his freckled face turned up to the hot summer sun. His red t-shirt, too tight across his shoulders and his biceps and his broad runner's chest, pulled up to show his pale and muscled belly. He didn't bother pulling it back down. It was just Wally and Dick out there in Lostville, Nebraska, Wally and Dick and that long, empty stretch of asphalt and the thick stands of corn bobbing in the warm breeze that swept down from the north. Dick thought it was north.

"We should get moving," said Dick reluctantly. The wind was pulling at Wally's red hair; the ends tickled his sun-browned cheeks.

"You're right," said Wally. "We probably should." He didn't move. He was smiling at the sun.

Dick slung his arm out the window, hooked his elbow on the edge. "Whatever happened to Mister Mile-a-Minute?"

"He got lost," said Wally. He stretched his arms out. His fingers rapped against the windshield and he turned his head, just so, to grin at Dick. "The children of the corn got him."

"You realize that was a horror movie, right?"

"Yeah, but they got out alive in the end," said Wally.

"In the short story," said Dick.

"Wait, there's a story?" said Wally.

"You know, you're supposed to let people finish talking," said Dick.

"Oh, sorry," said Wally, "excuse me. Please. Continue." He touched his hand to his chest then flipped it out, all mock-gentlemanly.

"Well," said Dick, stroking his chin as if in thought, "if I remember correctly--"

"You remember correctly," said Wally, "you always remember correctly, Captain I Know Everything--"

"The kids crucified them in the corn," said Dick.

Wally made a face, his lips pulling back from his teeth and his eyes crossing. "This is why I don't like reading."

"You don't like reading because you have the attention span of a gnat."

"I don't like reading because books are dumb and I am awesome," Wally pronounced. He punctuated this by stretching his arms up over his head so his hands hung off the other side of the hood and his t-shirt made a valiant effort to climb up to his shoulders.

"Spoken like a true philistine," said Dick.

"Name's not Phil. Dude," said Wally, "you're missing some primo rays out here."

Dick held out another moment. He considered the map, unfolded and creased, bent oddly from where he'd had to fight to cram it into the glove box. Another sign that they should have gone with the GPS after all. Why did anyone even bother with paper maps anymore? Well, he thought, not everyone's a Wayne. He tossed the map to the passenger seat and popped the door.

"Howdy, pardner," said Wally, "I saved you some hood." 

He scootched over so his back was against the windshield and his long, thickly muscled legs spread out before him. His heels dangled off the front of the car. To Dick's lasting regret, Wally did roll his shirt down; that glimmering suggestion of red hair at the very bottom of his belly vanished beneath the hem of his tee.

Dick swung up onto the hood and slid in beside Wally. The windshield wiper bit into Dick's back and he shifted, moving away from it.

"Geez," said Wally. "If you wanted to get into my lap, you just had to ask."

"In your lap?" Dick snorted. "Please. These are new pants."

"No, they're not," said Wally. He picked at the nearest belt loop, tugging so their hips bumped up against each other. "I remember. I pulled these off you last time."

Dick squinted at him. "How is it you can't remember what you did on a mission if you don't have a souvenir but you can remember my pants?"

"That's because I _did_ get a souvenir," said Wally. He leered.

"That's a great face," Dick told him. "Really attractive. You look like a fish. I can see why all the girls go wild for you."

"Nah," said Wally, settling back again. "They go wild for my sexy body. Check it out."

"I'm not checking it out," said Dick, but Wally was already flexing his arm and pouting. "Okay, no, I take it back. Now you look like a fish."

"Oh, man," said Wally, "I am so hot. You think I'm hot. You totally think I'm hot. You're thinking it right now; I can see it all over your face. You're so bad at this poker face stuff. Does Batman know you're so bad at this poker face stuff?"

"I'm thinking your arm's in my ribs," said Dick, but it fell flat. He'd waited too long to say anything.

Wally's mouth tightened. His eyelids lowered, red lashes glittering on his cheeks; he leaned back.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," said Dick.

But Wally leaned into Dick, shoulder to shoulder, Wally's chin warm in the crook of Dick's neck where it blending with his shoulder. "You know I don't think before I open my fat mouth."

Dick snorted. He rested his head against Wally's, and Wally's hair, wind-tousled and sun-warmed, was only slightly coarse against his cheek, coarse but clean-smelling; the rasp of it shivered down to sit swollen in his heart. 

"That's for sure."

The wind rustled through the corn, sent those tall, thick stalks waving, leaves brushing up against each other, the yellow ears of corn, still wrapped in their green husks and growing, like upside-down pendulums. Wally tucked his arm beneath Dick's arm and slid his square fingertips up Dick's palm to twine about Dick's own longer, thinner fingers. The ring on Wally's middle finger pressed against Dick's hand.

"You talked to him lately?"

"No," said Dick.

Wally's thumb rubbed over the back of Dick's wrist, tracing the shape of the bone where it jutted. The calluses roughing Wally's hand were known, and the catch of his thumb on Dick's skin-- Dick squeezed his hand.

"You know," said Wally, then he stopped. "If you wanted. I could talk to him--"

"No," said Dick again.

"It was just an idea," said Wally.

Wally's hand was warm against his; Wally's hand was steady. But Wally was quiet. The road trip had been Wally's idea, a suggestion he'd made one night after Dick had stepped out of the shower, dripping and looking for a clean towel in the laundry. Wally had been sitting on his couch, still. Same spot he'd sat in when Dick had gone into the shower three minutes before. Hood of his red Flash's costume pushed back, sweat behind his ears. Head turned down to his gloved hands.

The sun was hot on Dick's face; it burned in his throat. He lifted his head and turned, looking down at Wally's head resting on his shoulder.

"Do you still miss him?"

He didn't have to say who any more than Wally had needed to ask why it was Dick had clammed up that moment ago. Barry. Barry, swallowed into light and the world saved, the universe saved, all of them saved and Wally left behind.

You're an asshole, Dick thought not for the first time. To fight with Bruce when at least he still had Bruce, and Wally had only himself and Barry's legacy and Barry's suit and Barry, gone.

"Yeah," said Wally.

"We should get going," said Dick. He made to sit up.

Wally pulled him down again. His hand tightened around Dick's.

"Wait," said Wally.

Dick said, "What--"

Wally rose, just so, his shoulder bending back to expose the sculpted course and hollow of his clavicle, his elbow rooted on the windshield and his free fingers spread lightly across the hood and his shirt rucked up one side to show off his abdominal muscles, and he brushed his lips across Dick's with the thrumming quickness of a hummingbird, passing.

"Don't obsess over it," he said to Dick's lips.

"I'm not obsessing over anything," said Dick.

"We're relaxing," Wally told him.

"I'll show you relaxed," said Dick.

He pushed Wally back against the hood. Wally's hair was shockingly red in that bright Nebraska sunlight, his freckles dark stars liberally spattering his face in tightly wound constellations. Dick kissed Wally with his mouth open, his tongue rolling between Wally's white teeth. Wally hooked his arm around Dick's neck and drew him nearer still.

The metal of the hood was hot. Dick curled his fingers up from that burning metal.

"Okay, we really need to get off this," he said.

Wally's tongue flickered over Dick's teeth, so very, very quickly, then he did one long, slow, deliberate stroke up the hard palate. The tip of his tongue flicked over Dick's lip.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "I'm pretty sure my butt's on fire."

"I'm not sure what to tell you," said Dick as he slid off the hood.

"Can't think of anything to say," said Wally sagely.

"No," said Dick, popping his door open again, "I just can't pick."

Wally laughed.

*

The car wouldn't start. Dick turned the key again. The engine made a stuttering sound then sighed and choked and died.

"One more time," Wally suggested.

"Stay here," said Dick.

"Do you even know how to fix a car?" Wally yelled out the window.

"You can't even drive!" Dick yelled back.

"That's because I'm perfect just the way I am!"

Dick popped the hood. "That's not saying much."

"What?"

Dick bent over the engine. It occurred to him he'd never actually had to fix a car in his life. The rental car was an older gasoline model and the Wayne Corps used hybrids and electrics. Something deep in the engine tick-ticked and then quieted.

"So," said Wally at his shoulder, "what are we looking at here?"

"We agreed, no super-speed," said Dick without turning.

"I didn't use super-speed," said Wally defensively.

Dick leaned into the engine and began fiddling with caps. He wasn't entirely certain what the hell he was doing. This entire road trip was turning out to be a terrifying glimpse into the lives of primitive man.

"You used super-speed. I didn't hear you pop the door _or_ walk up to me."

"Maybe you're just not as good a detective as you think you are."

Dick rested his hands on the lip of hood above his head and turned to look over his shoulder. Wally pulled at his ear. He squinted at the sun. Dick waited.

"All _right_ ," said Wally, "but come on, can you blame me?"

"Yes," said Dick.

Wally stuck his tongue out. Dick stuck his tongue out right back.

"So much for maturity," muttered Wally.

"You're older than me." Dick leaned back in towards the engine.

"So," said Wally. He rested his arms on the car before the engine and, bent so, peered up at Dick beneath his arm. "How's it going, doc?"

"We need a mechanic," said Dick finally.

"You don't know how to fix it," said Wally triumphantly.

"That's implied," said Dick, "when I say, we need a mechanic."

"Well, I'm not waiting for a tow truck," said Wally. "We've been out here for three hours--"

"Twenty minutes."

"--and I'm bored, _and_ we're out of snacks." Wally held his stomach and looked tragic.

Dick closed the hood. "Let me get my bags."

Wally fist-pumped and did a graceless little sideways shuffling dance. "You want to do this princess style or piggy-back?" He waggled his eyebrows and flexed his arms. Dick would die before he'd let Wally know just how good his biceps looked when he tightened them like that.

"Take me, noble sir," drawled Dick, "I'm yours."

"Oh, dude," said Wally feelingly as Dick went round to the trunk of the car, "I am _so_ holding you to that."

*

They got into a large town -- Desperation, which Dick laughed at but Wally didn't get -- about three minutes after they left. Would've been faster, Wally said, if he hadn't had to carry so much stuff.

"I believe you," said Dick, as Wally set him down just on the outskirts of town. Dick had set his head on Wally's shoulder as Wally ran; he'd set his head on Wally's shoulder and watched the road stretch and the corn blur and the world whiz by for about five seconds, and then he'd closed his eyes so he didn't hurl down the back of Wally's shirt.

"I'm serious," Wally insisted. Dick took his bags from Wally, leaving Wally with his one backpack. "Minute and a half, tops."

"I said I believe you," Dick said. He shouldered his duffel and said, "What--you feeling emasculated? You remember that I'm the one you were carrying in your arms, right?"

Wally grinned. "Bet it felt good, though, right."

"Yeah, right up until I got a whiff of your breath, freshness," Dick retorted. "When's the last time you brushed your teeth?"

"Hey, we should probably find a motel or something," said Wally.

Dick raised his eyebrow. "It's only three in the afternoon."

"Leaves us plenty of time to max and relax," said Wally. Then, very slowly, he winked. His mouth pulled to one side. "If you know what I mean. Wink, wink."

"You don't have to narrate," said Dick. "I saw it." He hoisted the strap of his duffel bag higher. "You find a motel and I'll find a phone." 

He couldn't actually afford to swallow the cost of just abandoning the rental car on the side of the road anymore, not since. Well. Since.

Wally saluted and beat it for the town. Speedsters. Dick hitched his bags high and got trudging.

*

Phone was easy; even the world's worst detective could've tracked that down. A general store on the main road had a payphone, and Dick found change enough in his jeans pocket to spring for two calls, one to a local tow company (a one-man operation by the sound of it, and it just figured they'd break down in the middle of nowhere) and the other to the rental place. The tow job would cost extra and while the lady at the rental car dealership assured him there'd be no charge, it's our fault sir, please don't worry about it, Dick still got her name, just in case. He rubbed at his eyes as he hung the phone up. Keeping track of money was still kind of a new thing to him; he didn't like the way his stomach knotted up now when he went through the numbers in his head, even when he'd plenty. He pushed it aside. What did Dick have to complain about, anyway?

It was hot outside, hotter even than when they'd spread out on the hood of the car. The motel was just a short walk up the street, then two blocks left. Wally was camped out in the lobby, finishing off the last two of what appeared to have been an entire box of Milky Way chocolate bars.

"Save any for me?"

"Nope," said Wally cheerfully, "but I ordered three pizzas."

"What'd you get for me?" asked Dick.

Wally dangled a key in front of him, a for real metal key on a key ring attached to a plastic card that said 23.

"Are you kidding?" Dick took it from him and turned the key over.

"I think it's romantic," said Wally. "You know. Quaint. That's what keys used to look like, tech boy, back in ye olde olden days."

"Smartass," said Dick. "You better have got a double."

He'd got a single. Dick shrugged his bags off and then bent to unlace his shoes. Wally was already out of his shirt and his pants, down to just his socks (yellow, frayed, a hole at the big toe on the left sock) and his boxers, predictably patterned with the Flash symbol. He flopped down on the bed and flipped the TV on.

"Oh, sweet!" Wally began fiddling with the remote. "Nokia!"

Dick paused in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. "No. No way."

Wally turned big, dopey green eyes on him. "Oh, come on--"

"That's illegal," said Dick.

"But free porn!" said Wally. "And anyway, what do you mean, that's illegal? You're the one who _told_ me--"

"You are not cheating the hotel for free porn," said Dick loudly. "Besides, you're a superhero. Doesn't that make you feel even a little guilty?"

"How many guys have you taken in for free porn?" argued Wally. "I mean, how often does that even come up in Bludhaven?"

"So not the point," Dick shot back. He popped the last button free and peeled out of his shirt, his shoulders bending back, arms stretching. "What do you need porn for anyway?"

Wally grinned up at him. His eyes flickered; he was looking down Dick's shoulders, his chest, down his acrobat's lean belly to the clasp of his jeans. "Well, I figured, we could watch something and then we could--"

"I'm not good enough for you anymore?" asked Dick.

"Man, get over here," said Wally. "I wanna touch your butt."

"You're the last of the romantics, F," said Dick, but he got over there.

Wally was easy to flick on, and oh, when Dick pushed him back against the pillows and bent to bite his lip, Wally was _on_ , live-wire hot and already jittering as his hands flittered up then down Dick's bared back, tracing all the muscles flexing thick between his shoulders.

"Wait," said Dick. He turned to the TV. Wally made a complaining noise, but his hands stilled on Dick's hips.

"--collapsed in Topeka," the news anchor was reporting as a banner reading BREAKING NEWS BREAKING NEWS BREAKING scrolled across the bottom of the scream. "Emergency personnel is en route to the site now, but it looks like the bomb may have weakened another building, and--"

Across the room, in Wally's backpack, a beeper went off. The League. Wally dropped his head back against the pillow and sighed. Dick slipped off him.

"There goes the afternoon," said Wally glumly.

"Don't be a dick," said Dick.

"That's way too easy, bro," said Wally. "You gotta make me work for it."

Dick did a springing flip backwards off the bed and landed smoothly by his duffel. Behind him, Wally depressed the ring on his finger; the Flash costume spilled out, expanding as it hit oxygen. Dick unzipped the duffel quickly and pulled out his batons, then his own suit, buried beneath two sets of jeans and a striped polo.

"You about ready?"

"Almost," Dick said, shrugging out of his jeans. Suit was easy enough. He'd been slipping into reinforced spandex and body armor since he was nine. He zipped the back of the suit up and grabbed his mask and the tin of spirit gum tucked in the inside pocket of the duffel.

"Oh, crap," said Wally. He frowned. He looked older in the Flash costume, older and different. Dick supposed Wally thought the same whenever he turned and Dick was there, not as Robin, but Nightwing, not in red, but blue. "The pizzas."

"Leave some money down at the desk," Dick suggested. He stuck gum to the mask and then the mask to his face, holding it firmly to his cheekbones, his brow, his nose till it fastened to his skin.

"Right," said Wally. "Right." He pulled the hood down over his face; only his mouth showed and the faintest spray of freckles, low on his cheeks.

"Princess style or piggyback?" he asked Nightwing.

Nightwing tucked the batons into his belt. "You really have to ask?"

Flash smiled. "Guess not. Ready?"

"Let's go save some people," said Nightwing.

Flash slung an arm around Nightwing's back and hooked the other behind his knees; he hoisted him easily into his arms. The batons swung, knocking against Flash's arm.

"You got any cash on you?" Flash asked. He started out the door and for the stairs. 

Nightwing felt in his belt. "Uh. Twenty."

"Pizza's fifteen."

"We'll leave a tip."

Flash snatched the twenty from Nightwing's fingers and left it on the registration desk as they shot past it and out the motel's front door, into that hot summer sun there in the middle of Lostville, Nebraska.

"I'll owe you," Flash promised. Corn blurred; the road blurred. The wind snarled as it whipped past them, only a thin friction shield protecting Nightwing from that roar. Nightwing closed his eyes against the smearing of the world and pressed his face into the warm and familiar sanctuary of Flash's neck.

"You can pay me back later," Nightwing said to his throat.

"Free porn?" asked Flash hopefully.

"No," said Nightwing.

"Damn," said Flash. "Guess I'll just have to get naked."

"You're a true hero," Nightwing told him. He was only half-teasing.

"You know it," said Flash, pleased.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Children of the Corn_ and _Desperation_ were both written by Stephen King; the latter involves a rather terrifying day in a rather terrifying midwestern town by name of Desperation, hence Dick's laughter.
> 
> The oblique references to Dick and Wally's respective mentor situations are here sort of adapted from the comics. Dick, fed up with Bruce's crimefighting techniques, his emotional distance, and, well, a whole lot of things, struck out on his own as Nightwing, leaving the mantle of Robin to be assumed by another orphan, Jason Todd. As for Wally, after the events of Crisis on Infinite Earths, he had no choice but to become Flash: Barry Allen died in that cataclysmic event and in his dying, saved not just one universe, but all universes.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
